The Black Swan

[LurkingShadow]

A late night in the state building of Guldorand, one lone candle flickers alone against the darkness of the night. An Elven woman strokes her forehead, the other hand upon a pen. She looks upon a parchment in front of her. Unfocused, her mind trailed away.

Her months upon Arelith had been intense, filled with a lot of emotions, things had been built and toppled as quickly as they had become something solid. It made the woman ponder if her blood was cursed. She was obsessive of what she liked, overzealous for those she loved. She pushed; they stepped back. If she stepped back, they pushed. Perhaps she was a parasite, sucking their energy out. Driving them to distance themselves. Regret came to her. A lot of regret. A deep sigh as she put down the pen and looked around the dark room. She covered the candle with her now free hand, sliding her other hand into the shadows. There was comfort in the shadows. Away from eyes, away from people. She had seen it used to its fullest potential. Hiding away from people. Stepping into the light, stepping into the darkness. Not fully in either of the two. Like a twilight.

Like a twilight? Star of Twilight? Like the Twilight Star. The symbol of her father. The star is half engulfed in darkness, where it glows bright. The upper side is engulfed in light, where it’s black as night.

That thought changed quickly, she dropped her hand blocking the candle, giggling to herself. The Black Swan! The Bastard Swan! The Black Swan. The chuckles stopped, she pondered that thought. Turning to look inside the bedroom. There laid her equipment on the bed. The new leathers from her dearest friends, the blades from her superiors, trinkets from her blood relatives. She strokes her chin, deep in contemplation.

It is time to rebuild, to become stronger, to endure. No more weakness!

The Elf muttered to herself. It was time to be strong, become better, reach as far as she could. To protect those, she loved what she loved. Family, both blood and adopted, those that had given her a chance in Guldorand and Guldorand itself. She might fail people; she might fail herself. But her loyalty to those she cared for would never falter even when they lose faith in her. Her blades shall sing when the need comes. She blew out the candle, engulfing the chamber in darkness. It was time turn inwards, to focus once more on meditation.

She could finally step into the shadows again.

OOC Note: I welcome grammatical pointers, lore pointers and just average comments in PMs.

[LurkingShadow]

Another late night in the office. The Sun Elf sat by the fire pit. A feather pen in her hand, glancing over some documents. She put them aside and looked to the fire. A deep ponder upon her mind. Things escalate and de-escalate. They change and find new shapes. Her time upon the island had shown her that her talents needed to adjust to the times and the needs of the island. With a good teacher, she was adjusting.

But she wondered at what cost? Things did not come for free as she had heard the other day. She had been given a most prestigious offer that she felt she had to decline. Seeking honour, titles and glory hogging was not her way. To her, her strongest asset was loyalty even if it came with overburdening care and zeal to defend those she loved. This was also the reason for her to decline. She would not be able to do this properly. It did hurt, but she felt they deserved the truth.

There were certain individuals she would destroy the world for if she could. Traverse the Abyss and Hell to save. Murder and maim to keep safe. She would curse the Planes to keep these few individuals from harm and what else would come their way. She felt, she knew what would be good or bad for them. But she knew, it did not work that way.

Ambitions are nothing without people to share it with.

She had never aimed to control others, but she wanted to protect them. Even from themselves if needed. She had so often been alone, so often lost others. Perhaps to foes or foolish choices, but many also by her pushing them away, by choice or by overburdening zeal.

In her mind she dreamed up scenarios! If she was an arch mage, she would create a pocket plane. An island utopia! A dream world meant only for those she cared for. Away from the dangers, from the evil and twisted powers. She would convince them….or kidnap them away. To give them whatever they needed, whenever they needed it. To protect them. From others and themselves. But it was suffocating, she would hurt them. Perhaps they would even hate her if she did this?

A deep sigh and shake of her head.

Even if she would spend the last centuries studying the arcane. She knew this dream was probably not something she could achieve or even make possible in the way she had envisioned it. It was insane, impossible and a prison pocket plane for the people she loved.

It was unachievable. So she just had to do what she did, a shadow that did not hesitate to kill if needed. She did enjoy stabbing people. Foes, fools, and enemies. Puncturing their organs. Hearing their agonizing screams. Bringing pain to those who brought pain to the innocent, helpless and those she held in high regard, those she loved and saw as more than acquaintances. In whatever way this was. They will suffer for their deeds, thoughts, and actions. No matter what. Evil deserved no compassion.

But all this was her bitter thoughts. A lot of good things had happened of late. But it also made her worry more, stress more. Certainly, a paradox of strange shape. A fear of losing what she had. Her ever-watchful eye lurking on what she had. The Elf knew although, things would not flee from her, escape her, or pick other better “friends” than her. So why did she worry? Paranoia, there was a sickly paranoia to the Elf. One twirled and twisted into a messy paranoia with resilient loyalty to those she held upon a pedestal of gold and shaped diamonds.

The loyalty would never go away. That was her strongest asset in her mind. A loyalty so strong she did not accept titles and glory given because of her fierce loyalty, because of mentioned loyalty. Her loyalty came for free, but it came with an overburdening, overprotective Elf. She would not abandon what had the honour, or perhaps dishonour of her protection and care.

[LurkingShadow]

She sat slumped in the chair. Lazily half laying in it. Dressed in her armour. Her expression was that of boredom. The Elf sighed deeply. Her idea with the home was groups of guests. That had never happened. She only ever had two guests. Her eyes looked over the combined kitchen and living room. It was a nice place, she liked it, but it was depressive and empty. No one ever came to visit spontaneously, well! Beyond thieves of course.

It was always “work” related when someone visited. It was lonely, depressive. She might be a lone wolf but even the wolf need companions and friends to meet at times. She tossed her coin pouch on the table with another sigh. The coffers were getting dangerously empty. But she never told people this. She kept being generous. Her ideas to help and unify non-Myon Elves looked to be nothing but a whimper in the dark. Nothing! No one!

Even when she tried to help people accused her or looked upon her like a mad woman. She probably was but there were worse people. She is dangerous some say. Dangerous? Have they seen her fight? She was getting old or something, cause good at fighting she was not. It was harsh words either way.

Glancing over the shelves. Filled with books she had gathered or gotten from others, bought, or even perhaps stolen from shelves. Behind her and to the left laid a pickaxe and some dust and dirt from Malyss roots she had harvested. She had stayed out there for days! Just hacking away at the roots when she found them.

The Elf was depressed, sad and hurt. She was lonely. She was a failure. Everything she touched withered and died. It probably was all her own fault, but she felt as if she did not always understand social ques. Along with people never understanding her. But it is easy to blame others.

Find new friends. Easier said than done. The Elf wanted a family, wanted those close-knit friends, a band of brothers as they say. The partnership and companions of the saga! The tales. That one person or group of people you know will always be there! Side by side, fighting the battles of life, in all forms. The family was gone, the friends was there, she thinks. But non became that companion of the protagonist in the sagas. She would love to be someone’s confidant. The one they listen to or tell everything. That -one- person.

She sighed once more, head leaning back in the chair, she would stare on the roof while twiddling her thumbs. Her mind contemplating her situation. She had squandered so much and then the circle spun out of control. The accusations, the cussing, the aggression.
Better not help, better avoid. Better not be around. Move, stay out of things.

What hurt the most to the Elf was those lost. Those gone. There are always new people, there is always someone else. Yes, there was but! The large dilemma. Every person is unique. There is only that one person who took her in and gave her a job when her own blood fell to nothing, scuttling away to hide in the darkness and shadows of the subterranean dump known as Andunor. Others giving her hope and a helping hand. All of them where unique and unlike any other. People sell themselves to short when they do not understand they are beyond anyone else, and anyone else is beyond them. No one is the same. But not everyone is worth awhile. But everyone is unique indeed. Even herself, but then! She pondered? Was she not even the main actor in her own play.

With a deep sigh she pushed herself out of the chair, putting some water into a cauldron, along with some herbs. Teatime. She wandered over to the window in her combined study and workshop. Gazing out at the night streets of Guldorand. Paranoid thoughts came. Could someone be out there, looking for her? Seeking to hurt her or steal something? It was odd times indeed. Ever since landing on these gods forsaken island.

There was a thought about leaving the island and not return. But not yet she thought. But she remembered then, the letter she had gotten. Her uncle! Her fathers brother. The so very old and clever man was on his death bed. She would have to travel home to Evermeet to say farewell. Not yet, but soon enough. The medicus and cleric had given the old man less than a year to live.

She will miss him, just like she would miss all those gone and never seen again. So many had wandered the streets. So many she met as aide, she spoke to and smiled towards. Guldorand had a lot of good people. Some just up and disappeared. The Steward, the sailing painter, the Dwarven carpenter, The supposedly sharran guardswoman with a nihilistic view on everything, the bardic decorator with her parrot, and many, many, more.

Those where to some degree worse than death. There was no farewell, there was just a void. The unknown, unsure thoughts of what happened. Guesswork and hope they will one day just shop up. Others was around but not about as often or even seeing her in poor regards. Those all hurt more. The broken friendships, the hurt relations, and the lost souls that she never thought would be gone. That was taken for granted. Now she regrets it all. She should have done more. She should have arranged more meetings and social events with these people. But now? Most where gone. Never to be seen again as it seemed.

A deep sigh erupted once more as she went through her home. So many things here was memories, memories of people. Gitfs, leftovers and things she had found or associate with these people. She had a bad feeling about travelling. What if the lease ran out to her home and someone, some official or property owner put it up for sale? Losing all those memories. Her thoughts were a shambled mess of “What ifs” and “I hopes”.

She went back down to the kitchen. Pouring herself a cup of tea, standing by the window once more, overlooking the street outside as a light rain poured down. Some nightly wanderers, perhaps some that been to a pub strolled past. She took another sip of the mintleaf tea and pondered; will someone remember me? And would it be for something good or hilarious? Or something grimmer? She was unsure.

Who would remember her? Was it relevant in the end? The relevant question to her was rather if she would create bonds strong enough to outlive this cursed island. Time would tell her eventually, would it not?

[chocolatelover]

How have I missed these gems??? Keep writing!

[LurkingShadow]

How have I missed these gems??? Keep writing!

Thank you! I will!

[LurkingShadow]

Glancing out the window, huge bait brewing in the cauldron. Had there been some odd changes of late. The thoughts flushed over the Elf.

Yes…yes, indeed. Her actions had come back to bite her and never did she learn. Vithing fool. The biggest trick the Chameleon ever played on you…been yourself Sil. You bloody idiot.

The Elf sighed, shaking her head. Ladle in her hand. Obviously, her attempts had been useless and she had shown her usual crazy tendencies. New times, new chances. Take it you dumb tel’quessir. Before returning to her cauldron! It was good coin in huge bait afterall! Third order in a weeks time. New faces, new chances. Get your nonsense over and done with. Have some dignity, Sil! she muttered before preparing to dry the huge bait and put it into the baitbox. Another two hundred or so to go.

[LurkingShadow]

An letter never sent.

It was a late night. Nothing but a few candles spread light in the living room of her abode. She had penned the letter over and over. Unsure how to formulate it. Unsure how to say the words she wanted to say, wanted to make known. Feelings and emotions put into words, written, or spoken was always hard.

I am sorry for what had happened, I regret it, I wish it would be different.

But it did not matter now did it? Things had turned sourer and would not be fixed. There was no solution nor an end to the chaos and disruption caused. Live with the consequences.

I wish you the best…

No, it would not do. Nothing would do. What is done is done and things would not make it better anytime soon. A wise man once told her,

Memories are really horrible. Either you miss them and want them back or you hate them or feel fear about them and want to forget them.

The old man had proclaimed! It was a blessing that he started to lose his memories, his brain starting to not work very well. This old man perhaps was right. But nostalgia and sentimentality were strong. The letter she wanted to send would never be sent anyway. There was no one to retrieve, either they were gone or not wanting to read it. She let go of the pen and sighed. It was not worth it, better to let the old be memories and aim for the future. She was a bit to good at staying in the past. Hoping for it to simply return and everything would be well. Old friends and family just returning as if nothing had happened. But that was not how it worked. The letter she considered sending was put into an envelope and she put it by a book in the shelf. She decided to not finish it and never send it.

Perhaps years later someone would find it, her children, grand children, or relatives, wondering who this want meant for. Wondering why grandma or grand-auntie never sent it to the person she written it for. That would never be known. But at the center of the letter it was written in bold letters.

Thank you, for everything, I hope your life will be great, your ever grateful Sil’avesi Daoine’Dur

[LurkingShadow]

Grief, regret, and misery. Poor choices and experiences are made through out life. Hundreds, thousands if not more. For an Elf with their decade upon decade long life, these accumulate. We learn from said mistakes, from said poor choices. But the cost at times, of such poor choices Is burning bridges over a wild river that floods the banks. On the other side stands old friends and allies. You stare upon them. They stare back. Things will never be the same again, the flood is too aggressive, too strong. The current makes it so no one can rebuild it. The foolish actions of oneself have caused the destruction of a bridge. Of allies, able to come to your castles aid as it is sieged and breached. The more burnt, the less reinforcement can arrive. To many burnt bridges and you must fight the siege and its breaches on your own.

Such situations are never optimal, ever. Poor choices, act like a tyrant trying to control others and they shall beat you back to your own castle and burn the bridge behind you, over the raging river. Surviving a siege on your own is hard, not easy and will be arduous and painful.

The Elf had built new bridges. Thankfully, she still had it in her to be a good talker, be one who knew how to act properly. The mistakes had been learnt from, the poor choices as well. She was grateful for that and would do her utter best to keep them standing over the less raging rivers. At times, she would ponder about that other bridge, glancing over it. But in most cases, they stood empty. There was no one on the other side. No one asking to rebuild it by calming the storming, flooded banks, river. It was understandable.

She learned the hard way. By stupid choices. Burning to many bridges and a harsh reality hit you. What happens when all bridges are burnt? Will the island with the castle sink?

She did not seek to find out, it would be better to cherish the memories and build new ones with the new companions and allies that would wander over the newly built bridges, over the calm and steady river.

The Sun always rises again, and should the night be long? Walk in the moons light for tomorrow comes eventually.

[LurkingShadow]

A late night in Guldorand, a light rain had erupted outside. The Sun Elf sat by her desk, in her study. Working on her alchemy and herbalism. Unlike other times, she felt a serenity, a calm. Content with the situation. A lot had been lost; a lot had been forgotten. But among the sorrows and doors closing. There had been new doors opening.

In her three years upon Arelith she felt this was one of those times that she felt at home. Guldorand was her home, she had new allies, new friends. Even some old among them. Stability. She met a lot of people, many among them where great people, some annoyed her. But all sure where unique and their own personality.

She puts down her tools in her study and workshop. Infront of her laid a doll made of wool. A gift to a friend. Things where calmer and better now, it had not been for a while. But as mentioned, new doors and new endeavors awaited. Time to look to the sunrise rather than cry for the sunsetting.

She was not Myonian, she was an Elf of Guldorand. She would die for the Republic; she would die for those around her she saw as associates and friends. One day she will return to her father’s minor house on Evermeet. But this is not the day. She picked up the doll, smiling. Then she would put it in a box and head to reverie. A new day will arrive with the sun rising, and darkness flees back to its hiding place. She stepped up the stairs, it was silent. Her friend was either not there or in deep reverie. Serenity came upon the Sun Elf. She had felt alone those months ago, but new souls shown up and made life worth living again upon the island. What has been, has been. The future comes tomorrow.

A calm heart and soul, keeps the radiant flame of the inner self burning. Such serenity will keep even the darkness of the plane of Shadows at bay.